


One More Try - Chapter Zero

by Grimreaperchibi



Series: Amnesia AU [1]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Again, Because of Reasons, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Some Squick Because of Injury Care, Tord Redemption, after the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-03 16:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12751644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimreaperchibi/pseuds/Grimreaperchibi
Summary: There was something weird about the circumstances surrounding Tord's return to the group, giant robot aside. So when a second chance to save the friendship that could have been lost shows up, Edd isn't about to let it go, much to Tom's chagrin. But how long can you help care for someone before you start to care yourself?





	1. Because Friendship, That's Why

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SillynekoRobin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SillynekoRobin/gifts).



> A gift for my moirail, who spoils me rotten with this AU we've built. This is the bridge between The End and where our AU starts.

" _Goodbye, old friends._ "

Tom pushed at the heaviness that held him back, felt it give and fall away, revealing that stupid giant robot as it began flying to who knew where to do who knew what. Pain lanced sharp and hot through his arm as he brought the harpoon gun he'd somehow manage to find in the wreckage to bear.

He knew he had a right to feel hate for what was happening, rage at what had almost been taken away from all of them, desperation at the thought of losing one more thing to random delusional insanity. But he also felt confusion and a sense of loss that he'd thought himself immune to after all these years. He and Tord had always had their fair share of animosity, rivalry, and general irritation with each other; that went hand-in-hand with being the kind of asshole friends they all were. And yes, he'd been super pissed by both the abrupt departure and return of the gun obsessed asshole after so long. This hell-bent annihilation of everything between them, however, was going too far and had Tom spitting out words he had sometimes thought, but never given voice to before.

"I. Am **NOT**. _**YOUR FRIEND!!!**_ "

He pulled the trigger without a second of hesitation.

The recoil of the harpoon gun knocked him back a step. He watched with a mixture of self-loathing and grim satisfaction as the harpoon struck true, piercing the back of the robot. It hung suspended in air for the scant few seconds momentum and the flickering engines could keep it there. Then the laws of gravity kicked in, punishing the attempted defiance with a headlong crash into a not too distant hillside.

Silence reigned until Edd's scream of, " _TORD!!_ " broke it barely a half breath later.

Tom watched dumbfounded as both Edd and Matt took off at a dead run towards the wreckage. What were they doing? The commie had brushed them off like dirt; why were they still running after him? All that was probably left behind was a bloody smear anyway from that one man train wreck of a fall. His smushed corpse shouldn't haunt their last memory of him, not when everything else about Tord had turned sour. Tom wouldn't let the Norwegian bastard take what little peace any of them could find in his final disappearance.

He had a feeling that wasn't the only thing that had him slowly stumbling after his other two friends.

By the time he managed to reach the crash site, Matt was already blasting his way back down the hill, pale faced but determined. Tom didn't see Edd anywhere amidst the slagged metal. He also (thankfully) didn't see a smushed corpse somewhere on the ground.

"Edd? Edd~? Where the bloody hell--"

"Come help me."

Edd's voice came from the inside of the robot head, currently twisted face down at a broken neck angle from the rest of the body. A short climb to a wrenched off panel at the back of the head revealed Edd inside the cockpit, balanced precariously on the sparking console.

"Edd, what in the name of--"

"I need another pair of hands. Get in here and help me."

It wasn't often that Edd used his 'no nonsense, don't question, shut up and do what I tell you' tone. Tom could count on one hand the number of times it had shown up throughout all of their adventures. Shock value alone had him partially in before he registered how much he didn't want to be there. That little bit, however, let him see what Edd was fighting with.

Tord. Bleeding, torn up, smashed up against the shattered glass, twisted and limp in the tangled mess of a safety harness with that stupid spiked helmet broken, but still on, was Tord. Presumably alive from the way Edd kept struggling with the harness straps.

How many lives did the jerk even have?

"I can't get the buckles undone with his weight pushing against them," Edd was saying. "I can hold him up, but I need you to get him loose."

"Do you not remember the part where he tried to kill us not even five minutes ago?" Tom asked, incredulous at the very thought of saving the guy who had just claimed he didn't need them. "Nearly blew up our house? Killed one of the neighbors? Was a cocking great bell end since he came back?! Is any of this sounding familiar?!"

"I've known Tord long enough to know how wrong all of this is!" Edd shot back. " _You_ know how good of a shot he can be even when he isn't aiming. If he wanted to kill us, we'd be dead already."

" _He left us and--!_ "

" _And he's still our friend!_ Look, Tom, I know you and he never really--" The rest of Edd's argument got cut off when his balance slipped. He regained his footing quickly, but that apparently also meant kicking the big, ominous red button he'd somehow missed since climbing in.

An alarm started to sound, followed by a incongruently calm voice saying something Tom didn't understand but sounded an awful lot like a countdown.

"Edd..."

"I'm not leaving him."

"We don't know how long--"

Edd finally turned to glare at him. "I. Am **not**. _**Leaving him**_ ," he growled. "He's still my friend, _our_ friend, and he needs help."

_He needs a curb stomping that would leave boot impressions where it might do him some good_ , Tom wanted to say. Instead, all he could come up with was, "We need to get out of here."

"Then _help me_."

His reservations and anger were bitter things to swallow, but Tom finished squirming his way into the cockpit all the same. While Edd hoisted Tord's completely unresponsive body up, Tom struggled with the harness straps. The cut on his arm hurt like hell as he tried to work the catches loose. The blood dripping from Tord made said catches tacky and hard to grip. The dispassionate voice that continued to count helped absolutely nothing.

Tom was just about ready to give up when the last buckle finally released. Tord immediately ragdolled in Edd's grip and half fell onto Tom as a result. He ignored it, just like he ignored how much worse those injuries looked up close, how wet warmth almost immediately soaked through his torn clothing wherever they touched, how much dark red he smeared around as he hauled himself back out of the cockpit. Somehow they managed to leverage Tord up and out as well, then repeated the process back to the ground proper. Then they hauled him to where Matt was waiting with the car just in time to avoid the many tiny explosions that reduced the robot remains to smoking slag.

Edd wrapped Tord up in what was once a green hoodie, tying it tight to stem some of the bleeding before wrapping him up further in a blanket. Tom offered his own hoodie as a cushion when they laid Tord out in the back seat. They all remained silent as Matt drove them to emergency.

No one mentioned the quiet was to make sure they could still hear the weak, strained breathing coming from their wayward fourth.


	2. The Bad News First

They did not end up at emergency, which kinda made sense; Tord had a bounty on his head. If Tom could find a wanted poster in some random window around town, then any hospital within the country would know what he looked like. The local surgery, however, seemed severely under equipped to deal with such extensive injury.

Tom also doubted the level of care that could be provided there considering how easily they accepted the ridiculous explanation for how all their injuries came about.

You see, their friend had fallen (which was true) while they were remodeling the house (that was one way to put it) and had smashed through a window (close enough) on his way down. In their rush to his aid, Matt had gotten smacked in the face from the resulting flailing (that was a stretch) and a bunch of debris had fallen on Tom (also technically true).

If Edd had stopped there, everything would have been fine. But he'd kept going, and going, and going, until the whole story had spun so out of control that there weren't enough bread crumbs to get back to the right county code, let alone all the way home. And the doctor had blithely accepted every word.

It had been physically painful not to facepalm.

An overly sweet nurse got Matt some ice for his face while they waited, assuring him repeatedly that the swelling would be gone in a day and the bruising a few days later, leaving him as beautiful as he'd been before. Tom got enough anesthetic to numb his whole arm, seventeen neat little stitches that closed the gash in his bicep, and some pain killers that tipped the world ever so slightly to the left when he washed them down with the contents of his flask. Then they sat for who knew how long while Tord was seen to.

Tom blamed the opiate buzz he had going on for any sort of concern he felt when the doctor finally came out to talk to them.

"Your friend is very lucky," he said after introductions. "Most of his injuries aren't that serious. A few required stitches and several of the burns will require supervision while they heal, but he has no broken bones, none of the torn muscle or tendons that one might expect from the incident you've described.

"He has taken quite a blow to the head, however. The safety helmet he was wearing at the time certainly saved him from a fractured skull, but may have also exacerbated any other neurological problems he might developed, most notably in the function in his joints and muscles along the side he landed on. He is somewhat concussed, though as long as he's not actively sick, I'm not worried. There might also be some temporary short term memory loss as well; it's hard to assess with his body already so taxed.

"What he needs now is as much bed rest as can be managed. The wounds should be gently flushed with slightly soapy warm water and bandaged dry at least once a day, but more often if there's any significant spotting. Here's a script for some pain medication and another for some salve to keep the burns and sutures soft. If there are any further complications, I highly recommend getting him to emergency as quickly as possible."

And that was that. Edd carried Tord back out to the car. Matt slipped into the driver's seat. Tom oozed into the passenger side (the booze, anesthetic, and pain meds made it very hard to have knees right then). They went home in the same manner they'd left, silent and hyper aware of Tord's still somewhat pained breathing, only the world was darker since night had truly fallen in the meantime.

Matt helped Edd get Tord inside while Tom tried to remember what feet were supposed to do. He'd given up and decided to spend the rest of the night in the car when a flash of light from the hilltop caught his attention. It was the wrong colour to be fire, too bright and too focused, and even in his tanked state, Tom knew fire couldn't move like that. The realization that it was a car hit just as the vehicle turned onto the road proper. It stood to reason that multiple explosions would draw some attention even if there wasn't much left to look at. Tom had just about dismissed it entirely when said car slowed to an idle roll as it came by the house.

It could have still been a couple of rubbernecks, but unease itched between his shoulder blades. He watched, unmoving, as the vehicle stopped quietly and what appeared to be two men leaned out of the windows. One was smoking, the other had this weird fringe around his face, and both were conversing with short hand movements that were almost exclusively directly towards the house. They didn't seem to realize they were being watched as they argued about something.

That sobered Tom up real fast.

He must have moved because both faces suddenly turned towards him before ducking back inside the car. The tires didn't squeal, but they definitely left with all due haste. 

Tom still didn't have much in the way of bones in his otherwise jelly legs, but he didn't need bone when he had pure determination to get him to the door. "Hey guys? Something weird just happened."

He'd barely gotten a full sentence out since the robot had first appeared, so Tom wasn't all that surprised that when he finally did, no one heard him. Edd had passed flat out in the livingroom arm chair. Matt was sprawled out on the floor rug with a bed pillow. Laid out very carefully on the couch, covered with several blankets as well as Matt's jacket, was Tord, still and pale like a corpse at a wake.

That thought added a bit of nausea to the mix of everything else Tom was feeling as he shuffled over to the couch. He didn't know what he was looking for when he reached out to touch Tord, but his hand stopped shy when the other's breath hitched, a soft whine of pain passing his lips before he fell unconscious again.

Tom decided he wasn't drunk enough for this. He'd probably never be drunk enough to handle everything that had happened in the last twelve hours, but he sure was going to give it the old college try. He collected two bottles of Smirnoff from the fridge and stumbled to his room.

Neither bottle got opened before he collapsed into a dead sleep himself, but both were empty by the next morning, drained a shot or three at a time every time Tom got up to wander back into the livingroom.


	3. Fall Out

For the better part of several weeks, Tord laid on the couch like a world class potato. Granted, the majority of that time was him sleeping and it wasn't like he could really get up and move around on his own. Considering that Tom still wasn't thrilled with the fact that Tord was there at all, the added inconvenience of losing the whole couch, and thus the use of the livingroom, for that long made him disinclined to be anything except surly on the subject.

The others sure fell into a routine quick enough, though. Matt made sure Tord ate something, Edd doled out the pain meds, both helped with changing the bandages, and Tom did his level best to stay out of the three ring circus his life had become. 

Strangely enough, they were content to leave him alone. They didn't ask for his help beyond the stray request for little things like a napkin or a cola or some tape. Whatever care they were providing for their injured guest went on in the background for the most part. If Tord hadn't been on the couch (either restless with pain or dead asleep depending on how long it'd been since his last dose of super extra industrial strength aspirin), Tom would have sworn life had continued on as normally as it ever did in their house.

And for some reason, that pissed him off even more.

It finally came to a head one rainy afternoon. Most of the time, Tom was happy to be left alone. He preferred solitude to Edd and Matt's stupidity on the subject of the quasi-evil genius they were harbouring. But he'd been cooped up in his room for far too long. Even Susan started to fail at giving any sort of comfort. He needed to get out, get away from Tord and the sucking black hole he'd once more created between all of them. The asshole had gotten everything he deserved for going absolute batshit crazy. Tom had done only what needed to be done by shooting him out of the sky. Tord didn't deserve any of their time or sympathy, let alone care.

A search of the whole house eventually lead him to the bathroom. Rather than walking into an argument about Matt's eternal monopoly on the nicest shower in the house, though, he found his housemates in the middle of a very carefully orchestrated scene. Edd was kneeling on the floor with his hoodie sleeves pushed up, a pair of scissors in hand and a look of intense focus on his face. Matt stood near the sink with his sleeves also pushed up, making soothing noises as he gently pet Tord's hair. And Tord--

Tord was seated on the toilet, his damaged arm held securely in Edd's grip as the bloody bandages were slowly clipped off and his face buried into Matt's stomach. His breathing came in short gasps, caught between whimpers and shaky pleas for it to stop, it hurt too much. Proud, brash, gun happy, weeaboo trash Tord, who had always laughed at every bloody nose and black eye he earned, now grit his teeth with tears dripping down his face as he tried and failed to pull away from the source of his pain.

"Hey, shh. It's all right. It'll be over soon enough," Matt encouraged when Tord gave a particularly sharp cry, flinching hard enough that Edd almost lost his grip. "You're doing so well. Just a little bit longer, okay? We need to get that nasty gauze off first and then we can stop for a little bit." Tord shuddered, his response lost in Matt's hoodie as he buried his face in further. "I know it hurts, but it'll feel better soon. Hang in there. You can do this."

From his position in the doorway, Tom could see the raw and mangled skin being revealed one small snip at a time. What wasn't black from what he hoped was bruising was red from inflammation or sickly yellow where the burns had blistered over. Blood still seeped from many of the wounds, the fragile scabs broken by involuntary spasms. 

He liked gore flicks as much as the next guy, but Tom felt a little sick standing there, seeing the aftermath of the real thing. That Edd and Matt could stand there and do what they were doing without being sick themselves...

Then Edd looked up, seeming to finally notice Tom's presence. His pale face may have had a determined look on it, but there was no doubt he felt about twice as sick as Tom did.

"Ah, hey. Tom. Since you're here, can you go buy more gauze? I don't think we have enough." Edd offered an apologetic smile before turning back to his grisly work. "I'm sorry to ask this of you. I'd go myself, but it's so much easier with two people around between start and end and I didn't realize we'd used up so much already."

Even if he hadn't gone numb from shock, there wasn't any other way to answer without being a complete bastard about it. "Yeah. Sure," Tom replied, still distracted by the horrible weeping wounds. "Uh... anything else?"

"I think the refill is ready? Could you check? If not, see if the pharmacy can fast track it. There's enough for a few more doses, but it'd be better to have more on hand. Oh! We also need milk and cola, and if you can pick up something easy for dinner, that'd be great too. Take away's fine. I'll pay you back later."

"Yeah. No problem." Tom's feet moved him without his permission, turning him around and taking him out the front door on autopilot. He was seated in the car and on his way to the local convinency before he realized he was repeating the shopping list over in his head.

The white lights and floors polished to a reflective shine left him feeling exposed as he wandered the aisles. Not that he had anything to keep secret or hide. He was just going about his business like everyone else there. Nothing was more normal than picking up a quart of milk or a case of cola. And an obviously single guy like him poking around in the frozen food section was the most natural thing in the world. What could possibly draw attention to the fact he'd dumped all of the gauze and dressings in the medical supplies section into a basket? Certainly not going to the pharmacy to pick up a rather large bottle of rather large pills. Everything was above par, just as it should be. Nothing to see here but a man doing some shopping.

The feeling of being watched kept itching at him, though, following him all the way home.

It got particularly bad when he got back to the house; so bad that he took a not so subtle look around as he got out of the car. Nothing met his gaze. Great. This is why it was a bad idea to get involved. He should have stayed in his room and out of this entire mess; Matt could keep being the paranoid one, even if it was only about his face.

Though it was curious to see that the house on the other side of them had a sold sign on it. It had been empty for a while now, the asking price too rich for most given the war that never ended between the next two neighbors on the left. Hopefully their new neighbors would be less of a pain in the ass than the ones on the other side. If not, well. The area barbecues would get real interesting real fast. He'd have to keep his camcorder on hand for when the fireworks started.

Whatever else that had needed to be done to clean Tord's wounds was just about finished when Tom walked by again. Edd had exchanged places with Matt, helping keep Tord upright while Matt smoothed on a layer of ointment. Tord himself still flinched on occasion, but his eyes had gone glassy and distant. All three of them looked utterly exhausted. Tom gave a short whistle before tossing the bag of supplies towards Edd. A hasty thank you and the sound of ripping paper followed him down the hall and into the kitchen to drop off the rest of the shopping. Then he went back to his room with a bottle of Smirnoff and the intent of drinking himself into forgetting.

The forgetting part never really happened, though. The bottle came and went without imparting a single drop of peace, which left Tom carefully weaving his way back to the kitchen for another bottle that might be more amenable to his desires. The rest of the house was quiet for the moment despite the still rather early hour of the afternoon.

He managed to walk by the couch on the first pass without looking. Not quite so lucky on the way back, though. Once more Tom found himself staring down at Tord's medically induced sleeping form. 

At least he looked less like a corpse now. Enough colour had returned to his skin that the white of the bandages no longer blended in, but that also highlighted the discolouring that peeked out from where the gauze didn't reach far enough

It had been so easy to dismiss Tord's injuries before, covered as they were in layers of dressings, shirt, and blanket. When he wasn't being an ass, Edd could be quite the mother hen, prone to over-exaggerated care and fuss. Matt was a known drama queen. Of course any care they provided would be a circus.

Except it never had been. So now that he'd seen the full extent of what those bandages covered, Tom couldn't dismiss what those injuries meant anymore, either.

He had done what needed to be done when he'd swung that giant harpoon gun around. That robot had needed to go down as much as the madman piloting it. It had been necessary, an act of justice, even. Somehow though, it didn't seem right that Tom had only the one scar forming on his bicep while Tord was going to scar nearly head to toe. That Matt had received a rather temporary black eye and Tord still had the potential to lose one completely. That Tord had hurt Edd so much when he left only to be repeatedly hurt by Edd for staying.

The devil in red had more than earned a taste of the agony he'd inflicted on everyone else. They would move on from their wounds, however, and Tord would forever carry his around for all to see. And Tom didn't know how he felt anymore, knowing he'd been the one who'd tipped those scales so sharply. Because he knew all too well how badly long-standing pain could twist things up and not even Tord deserved that kind of fate.

He went back to the kitchen for a third bottle of vain hope.


	4. The Worse News Second

From that point on, Tom became more aware of Tord and the previously unknown activity that had whirled around him. Like the fact that Tord could actually sit up by himself when he wanted (even if the process was incredibly slow and obviously painful for him). Matt gave him more than soup to eat and Tord could feed himself just fine when the items were small and didn't require the use of both hands. Edd actually had a pretty iron fist over the amount and frequency of the pain medication Tord received, only allowing overlap during the times when the bandages were changed. That particular activity happened twice a day, usually once in the morning, then again in the afternoon. Both Edd and Matt hung out in the livingroom, talking about random shit and giving each other a hard time like Tord hadn't left them in the first place.

As a result, Tom spent a lot of time sipping his flask and making trips to refill it.

He was on the way to do just that when the doorbell rang.

"Not it!" Tom shouted, hurrying to the kitchen. Matt's voice rang out in concert, cutting in just before Edd's. Tom chuckled at the cursing that followed Edd to the door as the bell rang again. He took his time, trying to gauge how long to wait so that he was on his way out just as Edd would be coming back. The other totally deserved a heckling since he constantly lost to his own decree.

Apparently his measuring skills were a little impaired because Edd was still at the door when Tom came back around. He was just about to continue past when the tone of the conversation caught his attention. If it was rare for Edd to give a command, it was equally rare to hear him angrily polite. Tom paused by the entryway, close enough to hear, and close enough to help if things went pear shaped.

"Look," Edd said flatly. "I appreciate the.. uh... offer of help? Or whatever it is you're trying to do. But we don't need anything. And Tord's not in a position to have any sort of visitors, let alone go anywhere. So if you would kindly bugger off, I would greatly appreciate it."

Tom peered around the wall, trying to get a look at who was giving his housemate such a hard time. It was a guy, relatively tall compared to Edd, with a fringe of brown hair framing his face that looked awfully familiar...

The two of them matched gazes. They both seemed to recognize each other at the same time. The other guy quickly muttered something vaguely threatening and turned, leaving at a brisk pace. Edd closed the door with a bit more force than normal before Tom could see where he went.

"Edd..."

"I thought we were used to weird, but really--"

"Edd." Tom swung around, intercepting his friend before he could get far.

"That's my name, not your entire vocabulary," was the irritated reply. "What do you want?"

"Remember that car I was telling you about a while ago?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Yeah, so that was one of the guys I saw hanging out a window of that car making a lot of hand gestures at the house." Tom really did not like the way Edd frowned at that statement. "I don't want to know what he wanted, do I?"

"...Tord. He wanted Tord. Said thank you for all our time and effort in taking care of him, seeing him through this rough time, blah blah blah, and that he was there to collect him. The more I tried to play it off, the more insistent he became. And when I finally admitted that Tord was here, all he would say was that they were better equipped to handle any medical needs."

That wouldn't have been terribly hard, all things considered. The only thing they had going for themselves at the moment was the fact they were use to patching each other up and at least one of them knew how to use Google correctly. The quack-in-the-box that had seen to Tord initially was supposedly a trained professional and Tom definitely questioned competency there. Why wouldn't a random stranger be a better health care provider?

"The weird thing, though? It sounded like he meant it. Like he knew exactly what needed to be done and how to do it and really..." Edd went quiet, frowning at the floor.

"Really...?" Tom prompted even though he knew it was a mistake.

"Like he really knew Tord. Like they were friends or something."

Tom couldn't tell if he wanted to smack Edd or himself upside the head more. God, he hated it when he had to be the sensible one in a conversation. "He was gone for eight years, Edd. When he drove away, he didn't drive straight into some sort of timeless void or isolation tank. We've got enough restraining orders against us to prove there are other people out there in the world. He was bound to meet a few along the way." And now Edd had that downcast look he'd worn for so long after Tord had walked away from them. God-fucking-damn it. "Look, why don't you just ask him, all right? If he can vouch for the guy, maybe we can set up visitation rights or something. If not, then we can call the police on them instead of having the police called on us for a change."

For a minute, it looked like Edd would protest, but he slowly nodded instead. "I had hoped to put it off, but maybe now that he's improving, it's time to ask the big questions. Time for a Sitdown."

Now it was Tom's turn to protest. "Seriously? Why do I have to be involved?"

"Because this is a household matter and therefore a household decision. If you don't really want to be there, that's your choice, but I don't want to hear any bitching about whatever agreements get made."

Of course. _Now_ Edd chose to exercise a little logic. Son of a-- "Okay. Fine. Let's get this over with already."

He sulked back into the livingroom, making sure to flop into the only armchair. If he was going to be a party to this debacle, then he wanted the comfy seat. Tord looked at him curiously while Edd retrieved Matt, then carefully levered himself upright when the other two walked into the room.

"Okay," Edd took a deep breath. "Tord. This is something we should have mentioned earlier, but given your injuries, we didn't want to push." Tom snorted. Edd scowled at him. "The doctor mentioned the possibility of some memory loss since you hit your head pretty hard. Now I know you don't remember the accident itself," he continued before Tord could voice whatever he wanted to say, "but it's a worthwhile question to ask about what do you remember."

Again, Tord opened his mouth, but still no words came. What was visible of his face contorted in confusion, his good eye darting around, looking for something that wasn't there. After several very long seconds, he frowned and said, "I... I don't really recall much except having to... leave? ...I left," he repeated, more conviction in his voice even as the frown deepened. "There was-- There was something important I needed to do, something... I remember that you. You were sad, Edd. And Matt was confused, for some reason, and Tom..." He flinched, like trying to remember hurt and started rubbing at his temple, eye closing for better concentration. "I couldn't put it off, though, I _had_ to go, and I don't..." He shook his head a bit and smiled as he looked back up. "I don't know why I left, but obviously it wasn't that important since I came back so quickly."

That smile quickly faltered as dead silence filled the room.

"Edd?"

Instead of answering, Edd studied the vague black patterns on the ceiling.

"Matt...?"

Not to be out done by such a cunning plan of avoidance, Matt focused down on the rug.

Finally, Tord turned to the last person in the room. "...Tom?"

It should have been funny, seeing such a look of confusion and worry painted across Tord's usually smug face. All it really did was remind Tom that in more ways than one, he'd broken someone. "...Eight years," he answered roughly, taking a quick shot from his flask to clear his throat. Of course the first time they'd actually exchanged words since the whole robot thing would be something like this. "You left for eight years and then came back a little over a month ago. You were here for only a handful of days before you..." Tom gestured vaguely in Tord's direction as he took another slug from the flask.

Tord had gone about as white as his bandages, eye wide with disbelief and shock. "Eight years...?"

"Yes," Edd finally spoke up, done with his inspection of the remaining soot stains. "If that's the last thing you remember, then it's been a little over eight years."

It shouldn't have been possible, but Tord paled even more. Panic settled in his face and tone. "Surely there must have been something I said--"

"You never told us where you went or why you were going," Edd said in that soothing tone he used to coax Ringo out of a hiding spot. "You never said why you came back, only that you wanted to move back in. We caught you up on all our adventures, but we never got to hear about yours."

Milk looked tan compared to Tord's current skin colour. He seemed so fragile, small and lost and hurt and... Tom tipped his flask back with the intent to drain it.

"Eight... years..." Tord repeated to himself, hand straying absently to the bandages around his face. His gaze went glassy and dark as he started to sway in his seat.

Edd practically vaulted over the coffee table to catch him before he fell and hurt himself more. "Whoa, hey. Why don't you lay down for a bit, huh?" Not that Tord had much of a choice with the way Edd oh-so-carefully pushed him back into on the cushions. He certainly didn't offer any resistance, not to being laid out, or wrapped back up in a blanket, or any of the other fussing Edd supplied.

With a slightly unsteady stumble, Tom heaved himself out of the armchair. Well, that had definitely been an interesting waste of his time. Now he needed a drink and an empty bottle to throw at Edd for insisting they all be there for this shit show.

Item one had been completed and he was in the process of completing item two when his other two housemates bustled into the kitchen.

"Why did you tell him that?!" Edd hissed.

Tom blinked until the question filtered through the immediate rush of alcohol. Then he scowled. "What the hell else was I supposed to say?" he demanded. "It's not like you or Matt supplied any sort of reassuring response. Commie had to bloody look at me for an answer!"

Matt broke in before Edd could respond. "But what are we going to do? If he doesn't remember the last eight years--"

"--including how he got injured in the first place--" Tom added, unsure if he should be glad or irritated that he hadn't been informed of that particular revelation.

"--what do we tell him?"

They stared at each other; no one wanted to be the first to speak and therefore make the decision the rest of them would follow. The Mexican standoff might have lasted well into the night had Edd not made the mistake of breathing too heavily at one point. Tom and Matt focused entirely on him with expectation in their gaze. It took a minute for Edd to catch on. He swore when he did.

"Okay, okay, here's what we do. Since someone already spilled beans about it being eight years, we can't play it off like he's been here this entire time." Edd shot a glare at Tom, who promptly returned it with a two finger salute. "Given his reaction to that, I think it's pretty safe to say we shouldn't tell him about the robot or anything that lead up to that."

Tom stared, waiting for Edd to continue. "That's it? That's your grand idea, to sweep it all under a rug?" he asked when nothing else was forthcoming. "This isn't some dust and cereal bits leftover from a quick tidying up we're talking about here."

"I know that! But whatever happened in those eight years, like maybe that guy at the door earlier, did _something_ to him. This is our chance to keep that from happening, to change it back!"

"Wait," Matt interrupted. "What guy at the door?"

"And you want to accomplish this by lying to him from the get-go," Tom spat back.

"Giving him a chance to get his feet under him before dumping a tangled mess of accusations in his lap is _not lying_ ," Edd argued.

"Hey! Who was at the door?" Matt asked again.

"You just don't want to him to leave again!" Tom accused.

" _No, I don't!_ " Edd snapped angrily. "We've been over this, Tom. There's something wrong with all of this. And until we can figure it out, we can't let him go. We're his--"

"--his friends," Tom groaned in tired resignation. "And yet, somehow, I'm the only one who _doesn't_ want to lie to him."

"We're _not_ lying. We're just omitting a few things. Until his health improves."

All Tom could do at that point was shake his head. He turned to put what was left of the Smirnoff back into the fridge. The alcohol already in his stomach was making it churn in the most unpleasant of ways. "Whatever. Your funeral when he figures it out."

"Is someone going to tell me who was at the door or not?" Matt demanded.

Tom leaned against the countertop, firmly refusing to engage further. It was childish, but he also didn't care.

"Just some guy," Edd finally responded. "About this tall, brown hair with this weird fringe around his face, red sweater. Tom thought he saw--"

"Oh! You mean our new neighbors!"

That certainly caught everyone's attention. "New neighbors." Tom repeated.

"Yeah. The ones who moved into that house on the other side of us that's been empty for so long. Didn't you see the moving truck there the other day?" Matt tsked when both Edd and Tom continued to stare. "Two men; the one you described and his boyfriend, kinda scruffy with big eyebrows who always seems to be smoking. They're really quite the cute couple, if you ask me."

Edd face-palmed. "Matt, not every set of housemates who live on this block together are in relationships with each other. _We_ all live together and none of us are dating one another."

"Your observation skills obviously just aren't as sharp as mine."

Since the sanest option at that point was to walk away, Tom did. He even managed to walk past the horned blanket roll that was Tord without stopping, giving a good hard kick to close his bedroom door behind him. A stiff drink usually helped in cases like these, but the flask tucked safely into his hoodie pocket remained otherwise untouched. He flopped onto his bed still grumbling to himself.

It shouldn't have mattered what they told Tord about his missing memory. They basically had a blank slate to start with; who would have ever known the difference? But it still pissed Tom off that Edd wanted to lie. He wished he knew why. What he did know was that answering that particular question would only make his life more difficult.


	5. Moving Forward

As such things usually went, the argument between Tom and Edd evaporated overnight. The next morning saw one of them carelessly eating their weight in bacon and the other trying not to get sick because of the smell. It wasn't the worst hangover Tom had ever been blessed with, but it definitely wasn't a single Bloody Mary cure-all either. At least Edd kept the house rules haranguing to a disapproving look rather than a lecture. It might have started another argument if Tom threw a glass at him.

He was in the middle of mixing his third drink when a thump and a bitten off yelp of pain sounded through the house.

Tom sighed and set everything aside. Since apparently _his_ shopping trip hadn't gotten all the right medical things, he'd made Edd and Matt go themselves. In all honesty, it was probably a good thing for them to get out of the house. They'd been spending so much time tending to Tord they had started to look like zombies without the fun of being able to shoot them. That, of course, meant Tom got the pleasure of watching over their itinerant fourth.

A fourth that was conspicuously missing from the couch when he shuffled into the livingroom to see what the problem was. A small spike of confused panic hurrying him on his way, Tom continued into the hallway and found the missing body curled up on the carpet about halfway down. Tord was sucking in sharp breaths through clenched teeth, cradling his injured side.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tom asked after an incredulous moment of silence.

"Failing to be anything other than horizontal to the floor," was the strained response, but Tord still managed a small smile as he said it.

"Well I can see that. But why are you trying? You should be resting."

"All I do is stare at the ceiling and rest. I'm tired of resting." Tord slowly rolled himself onto his back with a stifled hiss, the action leaving him gasping again. "Besides. I can't stay on the couch forever; I don't want to even if I could. I have to get up and start moving under my own power if I'm ever going to convince anyone to let me."

And they could both see how well that had worked out. But Tom had to give him points for trying in the first place. It would have been easy to just stay put and let Edd or Matt continue to wait on him. "So what happened?"

Tord drew in another harsh breath before letting it go slowly, finally relaxing fully into the floor. "My leg. It gave out under me. There was a--a shooting pain in everything from the hip down. Then it turned to jello. Like it had fallen asleep even though I was fine a moment ago."

Things remained quiet between them while Tom tried to find something else to say to postpone the question he really didn't want to ask. He came up with nothing. "...think you pulled a stitch or anything?"

Tord seemed to think it over as he methodically moved and touched his injuries. "...no," he answered in the same careful manner. "It hurts, but nothing feels wet or pulls strangely." A small rueful smile touched his lips as his eye slipped closed. "If I'm lucky, that is. Edd finds any blood and I'll be bundled back up like a sick child in a minute."

"Yeah, he does that." An awkward silence settled around them. Tom found himself shifting from foot to foot while Tord remained unmoving on the ground. It reminded him again of staring at a corpse. "Uh... Need help up or anything?"

"In a minute, yes. There's nothing here I can use to leverage myself up otherwise."

There was maybe another minute of semi-uncomfortable quiet before Tord once more opened his good eye and looked at Tom. "I wanted to thank you. For yesterday."

Tom blinked. "Huh what? What'd I do?"

"You were honest with me." Tord's gaze shifted to the ceiling. "I won't lie, it's-- it's hard to accept. So much of my life, just gone. I don't. It doesn't feel... real. But I think it will be easier, knowing that now rather than finding out later. Edd would never have given me answer, let alone a direct one." He smiled a bit as he looked towards Tom again. "So thank you."

The next string of words from Tom where mostly noises of the "bleh, sure, whatever" kind and might have included something within a twenty mile radius of "you're welcome." Tord didn't press for a more coherent response, seemingly content to let the babble wash over him like it was white noise or something. The stillness that descended between them felt more peaceful, though. Tom stopped fidgeting at almost the same time Tord stopped looking dead.

Then with the heavy sigh of someone starting a task they didn't want to do, Tord raised his good hand up. "I think I am as ready as I ever will be." Tom reached out and automatically started to pull, only to be stopped cold by a sharp cry of pain. " _No! No please_ ," Tord almost begged, panic and fear in his breathless voice. "Please do not pull. My back will seize and I can't... _not again..._ " He bit his lip and shuddered even as his hand tightened its grip on Tom's. "Please, just..." he tried again after a few stilted inhales. "Just hold. I can get up on my own. Please...?"

Never before had Tom heard that many pleases from someone in the house, let alone out of Tord. From almost normal conversation (or as normal as a thank you from a frenemy could be) to cringing and desperate in point-five seconds flat had to be a record somewhere. It sounded so wrong, felt so wrong, that it made Tom suddenly very desperate for a drink.

"Hey, yeah. Okay. Uh. Let's try something else." Tord almost refused to loosen his grip, but Tom managed to kneel down far enough that he could pull the functional arm around his shoulders. "If you move a bit, I can brace you with my arm and help you sit upright."

He didn't receive a verbal response. Then again, the sudden fistful of hoodie Tord had said plenty. Taking forcefully steady but short gasps of air, Tord started to drag himself up. Tom carefully slipped his other arm underneath him, hand splayed out to help distribute the pressure. Tom was impressed by the time Tord was actually in a seated position. He had definitely started to sweat from the exertion by the end, but had only rested back against the provided support twice. Otherwise, he'd managed to do all the work himself. Commie was a lot stronger that he looked or felt.

After another lengthy pause to let Tord gather his courage again, Tom got him back to his feet. It was rather like lifting a fifty pound bag of potatoes from around the middle rather than an end, but they somehow managed. The most awkward thing about it was that Tom didn't know where to put his hand to help keep the other steady. Usually there was a belt loop to hold onto, except Tord was wearing sweatpants. Tom didn't want to just grab a hip because he didn't know where those injuries were and make them worse. In the end, he twisted his fingers into Tord's shirt. Tord followed suit by reaching around to grab a hold of Tom's hoodie with his injured hand. Or at least that's what Tom thought he was doing; it looked more like it was resting in the front pocket than trying to bolster his stability. "So where were you headed?"

"The bathroom. It seemed the most prudent of places to be able to reach alone."

"Still need to get there?" Tord shook his head. "Then I think you've done enough adventuring for today. Back to the couch with you."

He earned a weak chuckle as they slowly worked on returning to the livingroom. A snail probably could have lapped them twice by the time they actually reached their destination. Tom didn't feel like complaining about that fact, however, mostly because the whole event seemed to have wiped out any energy Tord had remaining. He laid down on his make-shift sickbed without complaint or fuss, dozing off almost as soon as he hit the cushions. After making sure he wouldn't roll off, Tom made a beeline for the kitchen, replacing most of the tomato juice he'd been pouring earlier with more vodka instead.

It had somehow never occurred to him that for as many grievous wounds as Tord carried on his skin, there had been far more left broken underneath them. That more had probably shattered by the stark revelation of missing so much of his life. No wonder Edd had been so insistent about easing the horned wonder into it all. Tom still didn't agree with lying about it, but that was one of the few morals he'd managed to hang on to through the nightmare he called his life.

He was contemplating another drink when a loud banging at the door made the decision for him. Tom took a shot straight from the bottle, stocked to the door, and opened it to yell at the idiot who decided now was a good idea to come knocking.

The 'new neighbor' with the eyebrows was apparently that idiot. "Release Red Leader now and there won't be any further consequences."

Tom scowled at the blatant demand. No introduction, no pleasantries, not even an acknowledgment that he might be interrupting something. So much for cordial relations.

"Who the what now?"

Unsurprisingly, his question was completely ignored. In fact, he got growled at for the effort. "We know you have him and refuse to surrender him back to our custody."

"What in the name of Lucifer's Girl Scout cookie obsession are you going on about?"

Eyebrows just rolled right over the top of him, the growling growing louder as he spoke. "We've tried being considerate and polite, but your continued resistance won't be tolerated."

"Hey! I'm not the one issuing threats here!"

"If you don't return him, we'll bring the force of the whole Red Army down on--"

"Listen pal," Tom interrupted, leaning close to make sure his words were actually heard. "We've survived alien abduction, three encounters with an evil version of Santa Claus, five zombie apocalypses, our future selves, our house getting possessed, and you haven't experienced true terror until Edd has run out of cola or bacon. So you and whatever army you want can show up on our doorstep. You won't win. Now piss off."

Finally struck speechless, Eyebrows gaped at him, cigarette almost falling out of his mouth in shock. Tom flipped him off for good measure and slammed the door in his scruffy face. Then he waited, wondering if he'd have enough time to go grab the harpoon gun before the guy outside decided it was a good idea to start delivering orders again.

The second set of knocks Tom expected never came, though. A surreptitious peak out the livingroom window showed both of the new neighbors conversing at the end of the walk. This time when they noticed his attention, they held eye contact. It lasted for only about half a minute, but it was long enough for Tom to know they were going to be trouble. _Assholes to the left and jerk-offs to the right_ , he thought. _This is going to make the weekends so much fun..._

Once Wavy Fringe and Eyebrows retreated out of sight, Tom turned to frown at Tord's still unconscious form. The term Red Leader sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place where he'd heard it. He was pretty certain that it had pertained to Tord in some way even though the other hadn't been around at the time. He did clearly remember how much Tord had enjoyed their stint in the military, though. Being a gun nut job definitely had some advantages there; it was easy to see how the trigger happy menace might have been sucked back into such a situation. Not that they would probably ever really know what happened, given the severity of Tord's amnesia.

Which meant Edd had a point. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Edd had a point and Tom agreed with it. The guy recovering on their sofa was not the asshole who'd come back and almost destroyed everything. It was the Tord that had left them so long ago, even if he was confused and in so much pain it made him withdrawn and scarily passive. They couldn't, _Tom couldn't_ , let him leave again. Not so defenseless, not so unstable, and certainly not into the hands of the people that had come to try and take him away. Not when this might be the only chance they had to save the guy who was their friend. A friend that some part of Tom actually wanted to come back.


	6. Getting Comfortable

Tom told Edd about their unexpected visitor, conveniently leaving out his semi-drunken rant in return; if omision wasn't considered lying, then Tom was going to abuse the hell out of it. He also left out the part about Tord starting to move about on his own. That was a bit of trouble to deal with later, preferably after Tord was up and functioning anyway. Or at least until the idiot screwed up badly enough for Edd to notice; something Tord seemed bound and determined to do sooner rather than later.

It was easy to see how bored he was of being bored. With as much time as Edd and Matt spent with their injured fourth, it surprised Tom that he was the only one who seemed to see it. Other than when one of them was in the room talking with him, Tord had zero stimulation. Not a book, not a movie, not even access to the tv remote to help fill the endless hours he had to otherwise spend staring at the ceiling or the wall. No wonder he kept getting up and wandering around. Even if it hurt, it was something different.

Then again, it was kind of fun to know something no one else in the house did. Tom didn't get that particular privilege often. Not that he usually wanted it, but that wasn't the point. The point was that watching Tord try to juke Edd's attention was pretty damn hysterical.

For the most part, Tord kept his wandering confined to circuiting the couch. A couple times, he tried to transverse the hallway again, though those ventures never really ended much better than his first try had. The only reason it wasn't a failure all the way around was because Tom's door was along the way and for whatever reason, Tord's legs would always start to give out just outside it.

"Look," Tom said as he dragged Tord back to the livingroom for the third time, "if I give you a book or a movie, will you stop trying to give everyone a heart-attack and stay on the couch?"

"A book is too heavy," Tord said, obviously quoting something. Or someone. "Or so I am told."

"If it's the freaking encyclopedia, maybe. But you can balance a plate and feed yourself; why can't you do the same with a book?" Tord just shrugged dejectedly as he retook his place on the sofa. It made a part of Tom twitch to see his one-time rival give up so quickly. Tord wouldn't even look at him, just at the floor, tired and so utterly defeated by something as simple as reading material.

"You never answered the question," Tom pressed before his brain could sound the bad idea alarm. "If I get you something to occupy your free time with, will you keep the exercise routine to laps in here?"

For a moment, Tord looked hopeful, but it quickly faded. "Even if you did, Edd or Matt will just take it away."

"Are you seriously telling me you can't hide a little old book somewhere in that pile, commie?" Tom gestured to the ever growing mound of blankets and pillows that now took up more space then the body there were for. "I know you're devious enough to hide your running around; why is a book different?"

Tord chewed on his lip, looking from the couch to the floor and back again. "Maybe..." His grey eyes were hopeful once more when he looked up. "Maybe a puzzle book? Crossword or something? Even a math primer would be nice. Anything I can work on and forget--" He stopped short, abruptly looking away. "If-- if possible, it would be nice. If not... Don't worry about it. You don't have to bring me anything at all. I promise I will stay near the couch in the future."

And there was that twitch again, a little thing in his chest as Tom watched Tord fold back in on himself.

With nothing left to say, and not knowing what to say even if there was, Tom walked away. He settled back into his room for all of five minutes. Then he poked around the house for about another twenty before he finally returned to the livingroom with a pencil and the newspaper. Tord blinked in surprise when both were offered to him, hope and confusion warring on his face.

"Go on," Tom said, waving the items a little in encouragement. "I'm not holding these things out for my own health and well being."

Slowly, shyly, Tord took the offering. His face glowed, like he'd been given something infinitely precious that he didn't deserve. "Thank you."

Tom shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah, whatever. Just remember your half of the deal."

"Yes. Of course." Tord gave him a solemn nod before turning to the materials in his hands. Almost instantly, he started to smile as he began devouring the words in front of him. Tom left him to whatever he was going to do, going back to his room and finding a bit of peace with Susan.

He did notice, however, that there was no trace of either when he walked back through the livingroom later. And that Tord still looked much happier as he listened to Matt's nearly endless prattle.

The next day after breakfast, when he was sure everyone was done reading the things they were going to read, Tom dropped the newspaper into Tord's lap on his way out the door.

Later, as he was looking for something else unrelated, Tom found the remains of a half-finished sudoku book left over from one of their longer trips. From the scratching on the previous pages, it obviously belonged to Matt. Tom tossed it to Tord anyway.

A few days after that, Tom went searching through their extensive movie collection for duplicates that could get pawned off for some extra cash. He swore he'd pulled ten, but only showed up to the store with seven; the other three must have been left on the coffee table.

Then he found himself in the book aisle at the conveniency several days after that, looking for something with the highest number of puzzles possible because newspaper crosswords weren't holding Tord's attention much anymore. He swore as soon as he realized what he was doing and immediately stomped away, only to return not even thirty seconds later, grab the one he'd been eyeballing, and stomp away again.

Shortly after that incident, Edd cornered him in the kitchen with frown on his face, but an evil glint in his eye. "So... About those things you keep slipping Tord..."

Tom scowled. "I didn't do it. You can't prove anything."

Edd shrugged. "You're right, but I know it's not Matt; he thinks the word finds on the back of cereal boxes are too hard to solve. But even if it's not you, you need to stop. Tord needs--"

"Oh come on, Edd," Tom interrupted. "Quit with the mother hen routine already, will you? I'm not even the one getting clucked at all the time and _I'm_ sick of it. So what if I give him a few things to chew up a few hours of his day? Commie's pretty much got his brain bleeding out his ears with boredom." Edd narrowed his eyes. "Okay, okay, bad phrasing. The point still stands. Tord is bored and bored Tords are a known pain in the ass. Lighten up a bit. A little papercut isn't going to kill him when a giant harpoon failed to."

The argument Tom expected, or even the teasing for admitting to doing something nice for someone else without prompting or bitching, never came. Instead, Matt came bristling in like his favorite bottle of hair gel had dried up. "The nerve of it all..."

"What's got you all wound up?" Edd asked. "Sale not for your preferred brand of pomade?"

"No," Matt replied tersely. "Our neighbors just tried to bribe me in exchange for Tord!"

"Whoa wait the what now?" Tom interjected before Edd could. "Bribe you? With what?"

"Empty promises, that's what." Matt crossed his arms with a huff. "Power, money, fame, all sorts of riches, but not one single mirror. The absolute nerve!"

Tom couldn't stop himself. He turned around, walked up to the nearest wall, and started beating his head against it.

"Knock it off," Edd chastised.

"No. There's no way what he said makes sense, so obviously I need to reset my brain until it does."

"Can we please focus here? This is the third time our new neighbors have come looking for Tord; they've tried something with all of us now. We need to start taking this seriously."

"Oh that's a riot coming from you," Tom snarked back. Edd ignored him.

"I agree, but what should we do?" Matt asked. "I don't think they've done anything illegal for us to call the authorities about, though not offering at least a hand-mirror if they're trying to bribe someone should be."

"Not to mention the cops would be more likely to arrest us out of habit." Tom was ignored again.

"We can't involve the police, remember?" Edd replied. "Tord still has a bounty on his head."

"What difference does it make?" Both Matt and Edd glared at Tom. "Okay, no, I'm not saying we turn Tord in or something, don't look at me like that. I'm saying that I know you're feeling super protective right now, but seriously, calm the hell down. We've raged war with the assholes next door for how long now and never needed the backup. Pretty sure we can handle a couple more assholes even if they live on the other side of us."

Edd's frown came back. "...I guess, maybe you're right...?"

"Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence," Tom deadpanned. "If it will make you feel better, I'll give our standard weapons a once over and up the house threat level to zebra stripe."

"Actually, it does. I'm glad to see you're more accepting of keeping Tord around." Edd clapped him on the shoulder before leaving the kitchen, presumably to check on said person.

Sorely tempted to start beating his head against the wall again, Tom walked away to the sound of Edd telling Tord that he could enjoy a movie or crossword every now and then, but not to push it; he still needed the rest. Tord, of course, readily agreed. But Tom already knew better than to believe the otherwise innocent words, and it gave him a vicious sense of pleasure knowing Tord had already taken the mile Edd's inch offered. It was about time there was someone else around to subvert Edd's assumed authority.

A small piece of Tom even admitted he was glad Tord was the one around to do so if only because he had always been the best at it.


	7. The Missing Piece

It took less than two days before their neighbors tried a new approach. Apparently having finally learned they knew almost nothing about their targets, they resorted to reconnaissance. Tom caught them multiple times with binoculars, staring. Twice, he found tiny microchip things in weird places. A thorough search of the house revealed seven more. Carefully piled together and smashed with a hammer, one could hear the electronic squealing of feedback through the walls.

The next tactic escalation involved setting out traps and ransoming. Tom knew better when he found the new bass in the front lawn; nothing could replace Susan, after all. He didn't touch it and it disappeared as easily as it had appeared. The mirrors that showed up next was an attack that was a bit harder to repel, but they managed to lock Matt up until that temptation disappeared as well.

Edd, however, managed to get caught not only once, but almost a second time as well. The first time could have been mostly forgiven considering Edd's cola addiction. They'd had a big row about that addiction like there hadn't been since the Flaming Zombie Underground adventure after they barely foiled the second attempt. He would be left in the care of his kidnappers if there was a third.

As if that wasn't bad enough, several of Tord's injuries had become infected despite the consistent care they received. The truth was he'd taken another serious tumble while trying to walk around again, but Tom saw no reason to mention that to anyone else when Tord was already paying for it. He gained a fever as the disrupted wounds started to seep, leaving his sleep fitful at best or flat-out delirious at worst. If it wasn't the pain keeping him awake, a night terror of some sort seemed to be waiting instead, both of which kept him thrashing about and reopening his injuries further. The only thing that seemed to help him was heavy doses of the pain killers he'd hither to been off of for the better part of a month.

Needless to say, everyone in the house was on edge and hyper-vigilant.

This time around, Tom took a turn at bandage changing. The process wasn't nearly as gruesome as it had been before. It remained a sickening experience, however. Seeing the pus leaking from half healed wounds was bad enough. Having to watch Tord try to pass out from fever and pain in the middle of the procedure made the whole thing feel unnecessarily cruel no matter how necessary it truly was. Tom almost always got sick afterwards, though whether that was from simply being grossed out or the huge amount of vodka he put down afterwards was anyone's guess.

He'd helped Matt with the awful task the afternoon when things got weirder than they normally did. Bandages changed and sleeping under the chemical effects of hydrocodone, Tord had been left to rest in the livingroom. Matt had looked worse for wear and headed up to his bedroom for quiet and probably a nap without a word. Tom got through half a bottle of Smirnoff before having to pray to the porcelain goddess for a curse on Edd, who was out of the house at the moment.

How long he spent trying to heave up his entire digestive track, he didn't know. All that mattered was that he'd been gone long enough for someone to break into the house. Two someones, specifically; Wavy Fringe and Eyebrows.

It was a logical progression, really, and a part of Tom even admired their tenacity. A much larger part growled at the audacity. It was one thing to stand on the stoop and yell. It was another to lay traps and bugs or use blackmail and bribes. But actually breaking into their home to kidnap one of their own was so far outside the realm of neighborly household warfare rules that he almost couldn't comprehend it.

Almost. But he could, and it only infuriated him more.

" _ **Hey!**_ " Tom snarled, voice punctuated by the harsh sound of a shattering bottle. Edd would kill him later for the spilled alcohol and glass in the carpet, but all Tom cared about at the moment was getting the interlopers out of his territory. Eyebrows froze first, eyes going wide at the sight of the broken bottle. Wavy Fringe said something in consternation that Tom couldn't understand before also realizing they'd been caught. Between the two of them was Tord, still thankfully unconscious.

"Just what the _flying **fuck**_ do you think you're doing?" Tom demanded, slowly advancing on the pair. "You thought you can just waltz in here? Just take what you want? Take _anything_ without consequence?!" He thrust the the bottle out in front of him, brandishing it like a knife. " ** _Put him down_** and get the fuck out of here before I decide I need to take another trip to hell and _**take you with me!**_ "

Both neighbors straightened up to military precision. But instead of dropping Tord immediately to hightail it out like Tom expected, they lowed him with excessive care to the ground before stepping away. "Okay, okay," Wavy Fringe said, tone placating and amiable. "We'll leave. Please don't do anything rash."

As soon as they had cleared out of Tord's space, Tom started advancing again. Both new neighbors continued to back up obligingly until their backs hit the backyard door.

"I don't know what the fuck your game is, but I've had enough."

"Please, we're just trying--"

"I. **Don't**. **_Care_** ," Tom cut in. "There's rules. You broke them. I should bury you in the backyard tomb for that. So consider this your one and only warning: you pull this level of bullshit again, and you'll be a lot more than eight feet under, got it?" Two near terrified nods answered him. "Good. Get the fuck out of my house."

There was a panicked scramble for the door handle and then both invaders were out, vaulting the fence like they did so often. Tom watched until he was sure they were gone. Or at least as gone as next door would ever be.

Dumping the bottle in the trash, he walked back to where Tord was lying, still out cold and drooling slightly even. "You live a charmed life, commie," Tom sighed, stooping down to press a hand to clammy skin. At least it seemed like the fever was finally starting to come down.

There was no way he could move Tord alone without reopening all the wounds they had just cleaned. Tom walked around the sleeping form to yell up the stairs for help. He and Matt got their charge back to the couch with minimal trouble. Then Matt stayed with Tord while Tom tore through the house, making sure everything was secured and locked up tight. He found the window the would-be kidnappers had likely come from in Matt's old room. It had become a catch-all for the house in general, but they didn't access it often; the fine layer of soot mixed in with the thick dust proved that. They'd opened the window as part of airing out the house and apparently never closed it again. By leaving it open, they'd practically rolled out a welcome mat under it.

Tom not only made sure it was locked, but shoved several boxes in front of it for good measure.

"What do you think you're doing?" Edd asked when he came home a while later to Tom on top of the house. "Tom, we talked about you mounting the harpoon gun on the roof."

"Things changed, Edd. Commie Squad went too far."

"Who? Tom, come down and talk to me like a normal person. Stop shouting."

They ended up gathered around the kitchen table while Tom gave his recount, making sure to put a lot of emphasis that getting the giant harpoon gun onto the roof was the best solution. As a deterrent, of course. Edd disagreed, pulling the rarely seen "all the bills are in my name so this is my house" card to veto the idea all together. Instead, they agreed to take turns watching over Tord, both day and night to make sure nothing else happened. It really wasn't more than they were doing already because of the fever so Tom reluctantly agreed.

He spent the rest of the evening taking down the platform he's been trying to build earlier. Then he mixed himself a strong drink to bury the fact he still felt uneasy about the care their thieving neighbors had shown in dealing with Tord.

Before that afternoon, he would have sworn the whole thing was about the bounty. First the pleading, then the threatening, then the bribing, but never any carry through, any action behind the words. And when the action did finally kick in, it was opposite the words, passive tricks and info gathering. Both were designed to draw as little attention as possible, which could be explained away as not wanting to share any money, but were weird behaviours in their own right. Trying to kidnap their target was the most direct thing they'd done so far. And the fact they'd given up easily and shown exceptional care when doing so all pointed to very different motivations. Those weren't actions of someone in it just for the money. It was concern and precision and way too much effort for a pair of strangers looking for a quick buck.

They had to have known Tord.

Tord _had_ known _them_.

And that was a puzzle piece they would hopefully never find. Or at least Edd seemed to think they never would need to when Tom had mentioned the peculiarity to him later. His concern had been brushed aside like toast crumbs. It probably always would be where Tord was concerned for the foreseeable future, too.

Since he was obviously the only one willing to be more than a little proactive, Tom set up the giant harpoon gun in his bedroom, pointing it towards their neighbors to reinforce the civil warfare point. Then he took up the first watch shift, too lost in thoughts that he didn't want to sleep. Even after he passed out, though, Tom still couldn't shake the feeling this was going to turn into one of those adventures that ended with someone getting hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where this part of the story ends. The main storyline belong to SillynekoRobin, which means it's her choice whether to upload her part or not. I have other one shots also in this AU that I will probably be posting sometime in the near future.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's stopped by. I hope you enjoyed reading this!


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